A flash of light shot through my eyes. A sudden spark of consciousness, chaotically turning the wheel before hitting the car in front of me. After my car came to a halt, I paused.
"It keeps happening..." I said to myself. In mid-stroke on turning on my car, the person I almost hit slapped my window. I think he must have been late for something, because all I saw were his fiery eyes, followed by an enraged expression.
I couldn't hear what he was saying as I had my window rolled up, and frankly, I rather would have kept it that way.
But alas, I knew there was no way to avoid this problem, so as I cracked the window, suddenly some air shot into my lungs. I was in my car, and I looked at the mirror.
I saw myself sweating, and I looked at my speedometer. It stood at 85. Why am I going so fast? What time is it? Midnight... It was 7:00 AM last time I checked. My wife will be furious!
As I got home, which should have been hours ago, my wife was asleep and awoke as she heard the door crack and shirk by the rust of the panels. Walking past the bathroom and into the kitchen, she saw me and said, "What happened?"
"Nothing," I said.
I shamefully heeled my head to the floor. "Back to bed I go..." I cried, and a scream suddenly erupted from my soul, as I gently moved my hand across the bed trying to gain comfort and realize that she was still gone.
My wife died a long time ago from leukemia. Her dying words to me were, "Your memories will keep me with you, as if I never left." I guess it must have worked, as I laid my head against my pillow.
The next week had been the same. I woke from my state of limbo, I call it. I had an encounter with a guy who wants to hurt me. I was scared. I'm on the road by 12, my body filled with sweat and rage to get home. I am ashamed for being late, and I am sad that she's gone.
The next four weeks were the same. The fifth week, however, was different. It was usually fear to anger. But instead, it was shame. I felt happiness as I heard the clunk of the police car door slam in front of me. It has appeared that on my way to my house, I happened to be the master mind of the gruesome murders of four men, but when I should have been surprised, I simply nodded as if I knew this day would come.
On awaiting my death, as that was the verdict, I laid on the bed and looked at the broken ceiling. I should explain what happened. I was diagnosed with MPD. I could always control it when my wife was here, but when she left the last time we hugged, I went into my state and never knew what she felt when she died.
Each time I went into that moment, I felt she was always there, so I stayed as long as I could. But if you keep pure emotion unchecked and leave them unaware, they seem to develop a life of their own.
"Any last words?" the guard had said. I gave him my reply.
"You are the one I was always seeking for. I should have known it."